


Nervous, Thrice

by dysonrules



Series: Nervous Trilogy [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/pseuds/dysonrules





	Nervous, Thrice

Draco crept through the undergrowth with his wand held ready. He nearly trampled on Goyle, who had stopped suddenly.

"Damn it, Greg, what the—?"

Goyle shushed him, which shocked Draco enough that he was actually silent for a moment. Luckily, as it turned out, because he heard voices coming from somewhere ahead. Draco strained his ears. Were they fellow Death Eaters, or someone else? It would help if it weren't so bloody foggy. Whose brilliant idea had it been to attack this stupid Muggle railway station in this remote area anyway?

Oh yes, that master of strategy, _Voldemort_. God, Draco was sick to death of that freak. He sighed and gripped Goyle's arm, recognizing the gruff voice that sounded much closer.

"It's Mad-Eye Moody!" he whispered. "The Order of Phoenix is here!"

He pushed Goyle, who tried to move silently to the left, but the lumbering hulk could not have moved silently wearing a mink coat and fuzzy slippers in a padded room full of pillows. Moody barked a sharp command to "halt!" and Draco shoved Goyle hard.

"Run!" he said on a sharp exhalation. Goyle bolted, crashing through the brush like a charging rhino. Draco leapt after him, but he didn't make it six steps before a zing of pain hit his back near his right kidney and he toppled to the damp ground, immobile. Stupid Goyle kept going, apparently not realizing Draco had been hit.

Someone picked him up by the scruff of his neck and plucked the wand from his unresponsive hand. Draco glared into Moody's roving eye. Mad-Eye turned and slammed Draco into a nearby tree.

"Someone's been looking for you, boy," Moody said, growling into Draco's face with breath that hinted strongly of sausages washed down with Firewhiskey. "Personally, I'd rather eliminate you right here and now, but orders is orders, damn it all."

Something silvery streaked from Moody's wand and it wasn't long before a cloaked figure approached silently through the mist. The face was hidden, but Draco recognized the voice immediately.

"Thank you, Alastor. I'll take it from here."

_Potter._

Moody did not move. Potter sighed beneath the dark hood that completely concealed his face.

"He's immobilized and you've got his wand, which I will take, by the way." Potter plucked Draco's wand from Moody's hand. "Please make certain we're not interrupted while I… talk to Malfoy." He tucked Draco's wand into a pocket.

Draco would have sneered if he could have moved. Talk. Right. The Gryffindor bastard would like nothing better than to dissect Draco. After all, he had been the last one to _Crucio_ Potter before his escape from the Death Eater hideout in Scotland. Potter most likely wanted to return the favor.

Moody muttered, but released Draco and strolled off until he was lost in the fog. Potter took Moody's place, holding Draco against the tree with two palms pressed against his chest. Draco wished Potter would push back the hood and reveal his face—he looked like a budding Voldemort shrouded in black.

Harry murmured a spell and suddenly Draco could move again, but then he couldn't because Potter was pressed completely against him and— _what the fuck_ —he was _kissing_ him! Not a light, taunting peck, either, but a full-blown, tonsil-tasting, senses-melting, need-you-right-now sort of kiss. Potter's tongue teased the parts of Draco's mouth that he most enjoyed having teased and Draco found himself responding in mortified surprise.

Draco raised his hands to Potter's chest, knowing he should push him away, but… bloody hell, that felt good. Potter groaned in what sounded like pure pleasure and Draco felt a raw knife-edge of desire slice through him. His hands clenched against Potter's black robes and the hero finally slowed his assault. He pulled back after several light, sucking kisses on Draco's lips, and then shook the hood away from his face.

As soon as Draco's gaze met the half-lidded green eyes, he gasped aloud. The memory block melted away and Draco remembered— _fucking hell!_ So many lost memories! Tormenting Potter in the dungeon; the three-part bargain they had struck; the memory block; Voldemort's interrogation… and crashing over everything, the overwhelming remembrance of Harry Potter writhing in his bed… Draco flipped through the images in shock, trying to reconcile his recollections with the month past, in which he had been loathing Potter with his usual passion.

"Is this some trick?" Draco asked thickly, suddenly doubting his own mind. Potter's hands were still flat on Draco's chest, not gripping to hold him in place, but spread out, like a lover's touch.

"I've been looking for you for a month," Potter said, ignoring the question. "You and the Death Eaters fled the Scottish castle, which you had plenty of time for, since it seemed to take me forever to fly home. I could only hope you were in no danger."

Potter sounded so earnest—and there was also the kiss—that Draco began to believe the revealed memories were true. If they were, then Potter owed him an Unbreakable Vow. Draco tested the theory. He leaned forward and nuzzled Potter's neck. He felt Potter's chest jerk beneath his hands as he sucked in a breath.

"Damn you," Potter murmured against Draco's hair. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

Draco inhaled sharply at a sudden ghost of memory that had haunted him for weeks. His Dark Mark. Whenever he looked at it, he always had the sensation of a dark head bent over his arm while a liquid tongue traced the tattoo. Now he remembered Potter's words: "Every time you see the Dark Mark, you'll think of me." God, it was all true!

Draco shoved Potter back suddenly, angrily. "You bastard! You blocked my memory when you departed that night!"

Potter grinned wryly. "I swore to protect you. The only way to do that after I was gone was to remove your knowledge of those events."

Draco glared, but he supposed it made sense from a noble Gryffindor point of view.

"Psssst! Potter, hurry it up—they are returning!" Moody's voice was not far away. Draco wondered if Mad-Eye had seen Potter snogging him and decided he didn't care.

"I need you to do something for me," Potter said with a grimace. "Do _not_ do it if it will put you in danger."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Potter reached into his robes. "First, take this. Remember when you told me about a Locator Spell? We looked it up and Hermione made this for me." He pulled a long, delicate chain over his head and then slipped it over Draco's. A golden medallion glinted for a moment, dangling from the chain.

"If you are ever in danger, now I will be able to find you."

Draco sneered. "And you can find the Death Eaters as well. How convenient."

"Don't wear it, then!" Potter snapped. "You're the one who wanted the damned Unbreakable Vow. How the hell can I look after you if I don't know where you are?"

Draco scowled and tucked the medallion beneath his robes. He would deal with it later.

"I need my wand," Potter continued in a serious tone. Draco stared at him and Potter went on, "Yes, I have a replacement, of course, but I need _that_ wand. It's linked to Voldemort's wand, somehow. I don't think I can kill him without it. Forget that, I bloody well _know_ I can't kill him without it."

Harry Potter's wand was currently locked away in a spelled box in the possession of Draco's father. "Somehow, I think my father will notice if it turns up missing."

"Not if you replace it with this," Potter said. He took another wand from his robes. "It's a replica of mine. Hermione and McGonagall made it. Just don't get them mixed up while swapping them."

Before Draco could ask, Potter added, "There's a notch—here." He grabbed Draco's hand and pressed his fingers against the wand. Draco told himself he did not feel a thrill at the light touch.

"Don't exchange them unless you can do it without getting caught, of course."

Moody stamped up and glared at Draco. Potter's hand was still clasped around Draco's on the wand.

"Let's go, Potter," Moody said gruffly. Moody stalked off and Harry let go. He held up Draco's wand and Draco took it along with Potter's replica.

Potter sighed. "All right, then." He roughly grabbed the hood of Draco's cloak and pulled it up over his head. "Try to stay invisible, damn it. That hair of yours is brighter than the moon."

"It blends with the mist, Potter," Draco said dryly, oddly touched. Potter started away and then stopped and turned back. He leaned in and kissed Draco again. Draco allowed it without protest, and drank in the taste and scent of Potter, still slightly overwhelmed by the strange turn of events.

And then Potter was gone, leaving Draco to lean against the tree in bemusement until Goyle crashed into sight. Draco tucked the replica wand away.

"Bloody hell, Draco! I thought you were taken! Let's get out of here—the Order is everywhere!"

 _Aren't they, though?_ Draco thought and hurried after Goyle. He had no idea how successful the Death Eaters' mission had been, and he didn't care. His mind was already racing ahead, wondering how to get his hands on Potter's wand—and from there how to get his hands on Potter.

~*~

Draco lay in bed with one hand propped behind his head. He dangled the fine gold chain in the air with the other hand and watched the medallion spin lazily.

He should toss the bloody thing. The hell of it was, the medallion was a thing of beauty, obviously custom-crafted and very expensive. On the front was a stylized Slytherin **S** , encircled by a serpent biting its own tail—ouroboros, a symbol of eternity. The serpent's eye was a brilliant emerald.

On the reverse was an inscription. Potter's attempt at humor, he assumed. It read: _Remember me._ He wondered how Granger had linked a Locator Spell to the medallion. Draco knew how it worked on people—it generally involved something like a tattoo. The Dark Mark was one version, although that was more a Summoner than a Locator. The medallion most likely had the spell etched into the Celtic design around the inscription.

Locator Spell or not, Potter had made no attempt to contact Draco. It had been a week since the revelation of Draco's lost memories. The Death Eaters had been roaming since that time, never staying in one place, and constantly swapping members about.

Draco currently lay in a small room of a Cornish inn, waiting for orders. The others were below, drinking heavily as they tried to forget how much they missed their normal lives, and how much they hated the bastard they now served. Draco stayed in his room and remembered. He decided it had been something of a blessing that Potter had Obliviated his memory. Now that they were available, Draco found himself constantly haunted by recollections of Potter—bound to a marble pillar with Draco's tongue sliding over his skin; Potter clutching his cloak nervously; Potter on the bed, arching beneath him; Potter's hands twisted in Draco's hair; invisible Potter kissing him on the parapet…

Draco groaned, feeling an uncomfortable stirring of ardor. It was hardly fair that Harry Potter had been the best shag of Draco's life. Just thinking about the damned Gryffindor hero made Draco feel warm and slightly feverish.

He cursed and swung his feet off the bed before slipping the chain over his head and tucking the medallion beneath his shirt. Draco shrugged on his robes and scrawled a quick note for Goyle. He grabbed his broom from the wall near the door and pushed open the window. It was nearing ten p.m.; Potter was probably already asleep. Or at least in bed… The image of that drove Draco through the window and into the sky. He flew as high as possible for a short time, until the cold air bit into his lungs and made his fingers ache on the handle of the broom.

He plunged back to earth with frost crystals melting on his lashes, and set down in a small clearing next to a tiny, gurgling brook. He took his robes and spread them over a patch of soft-looking grass, intending to sprawl there and look at the gleaming stars. At least, that's what he told himself when he performed the action. Even though he knew better.

Draco fixed the wind damage to his hair with a quick flick of his wand and stood next to the brook for a bit, listening to the bubbling gurgle.

Damn it, Potter had said to call if he was in _danger_ , not climbing the walls with frustrated lust. He swore and pressed his fingers against the medallion, uncertain if it would even work.

 _Potter_ , he sent simply. Nothing happened. Draco paced impatiently, wondering if there were a spell or keyword that Potter had neglected to—the nearby crack of Apparition stopped him in his tracks. He pulled his wand out and held it ready as his eyes scanned the trees. He saw no one.

Suddenly, a warm body pressed against his back and he felt two hands on his waist. A breathy voice whispered in his ear. "Are you in danger, Malfoy?"

"No," he replied, relaxing with a heady rush.

"Mortal peril?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Threat of injury?"

"Not recently."

"Angry slurs?"

"No." Draco wasn't sure he liked this new Potter. What had happened to the frightened man that had been at Draco's mercy back in Scotland?

"Paper cut?" Potter continued. "A bruise you need me to kiss?"

Draco decided to forgive the sarcasm when Potter accompanied the words with delicate kisses on the side of his neck.

"I could probably come up with a few of those," Draco admitted. The hands left his waist and curled tightly around his torso, sliding up and over his chest.

"Good thing I came, then." Potter said and groaned. "I nearly hoped you would get into trouble just so…"

"I didn't realize I could summon you just by using the medallion," Draco said, which was only semi-true, because he had suspected it would work that way. He had merely been… what? Proving to himself that he didn't need Potter?

"It's linked to mine. You can summon me whenever you like," Potter said, still nuzzling Draco's neck. "What is it you want, anyway?"

"I want to shag you into the ground, Potter. I want to fuck you so hard you'll wake up in China."

Potter groaned as his mouth met Draco's and they came together in a frenzy of bottled passion. Draco turned to face him and slipped his hands beneath the invisibility cloak. Potter wore nothing but jeans and trainers under the cloak.

"Were you asleep?" Draco asked against Potter's mouth.

"No. Just in bed. I couldn't sleep." He sucked at Draco's lips and his hands tugged at Draco's shirt.

"Thinking of me?" Draco asked with his fingers at Potter's fly, unzipping.

"Yes," Potter admitted breathily. "Every damned night for weeks." He yanked Draco's shirt off over his head, breaking the kiss for only a moment, and then his hot hands were sliding over Draco's back.

"Weeks," Draco breathed. "I'm surprised you did not find yourself a replacement." He tumbled Potter to the ground atop the robes he'd spread out, landing a bit more sharply than intended, but the thought of Potter with someone else had suddenly caused him to see red.

Potter laughed shortly as Draco roughly dragged his jeans off. "There is no replacement for you, Malfoy. You are definitely unique."

Draco tried not to feel relieved at the words. What did he care if Potter shagged everyone in England? He pressed several ardent kissed into Potter's throat, nearly biting with the force of his need. Bright gold glinted on Potter's neck—a twin to the medallion Draco wore.

"Good. Try to remember that you're _mine_ , Potter," Draco said harshly. Potter's legs suddenly twisted into Draco's and they rolled until he lay atop Draco. Potter's hands unfastened Draco's trousers and his green eyes bored into Draco's.

"I might say the same to you, Malfoy," Potter said. Draco's breath caught in his throat as Potter's hand dragged the remainder of Draco's clothing off, and then Potter's body was stretched over his again and his hands were buried in Draco's hair, caressing the back of his neck while his mouth attacked Draco's.

Draco's hands roamed over Potter's bare back and down again to cup his tight arse. Potter's hips rolled forward, pressing his erection against Draco's with a delicious friction. Draco groaned.

"Remember when you did this to me?" Potter asked and levered himself up slightly to slide his tongue over Draco's forehead and kiss a blazing path from temple to jaw. Potter panted hotly in his ear for a moment and took Draco's earlobe in his teeth. Draco  decided that if he were ever to die by ingestion, he would volunteer Harry Potter for the job, especially when Potter moved to Draco's throat and pressed a line of biting kisses there.

Potter's tongue slid over the chain Draco wore and followed it to the hollow of his throat. He nudged the medallion aside and licked the indentation a few times before sliding downward, kissing a trail down to Draco's navel.

 _God, don't stop there_ , Draco thought. Fuck, no wonder Potter had been so agitated in the dungeon when Draco had applied the same torture. Potter raised his head and paused until Draco tipped his head up to look at him.

"Are you waiting for me to beg?" Draco snapped.

"No, just waiting for you to acknowledge that I _could_ make you beg," Potter replied with a wicked chuckle.

"God, I hate you," Draco said and instantly changed his mind when Potter licked his cock from top to base with agonizing slowness, and back up again. Draco made a sound that was mortifyingly un-Malfoylike.

"Are you _sure_ you hate me?" Potter asked maddeningly. He waited for an answer long enough that Draco was ready to swear he loved Potter, loved Mudbloods, loved _Dolores Umbridge_ , if only Potter would put his mouth back to good use. Draco began to snarl as much when Potter obligingly enveloped the shaft to the hilt. Draco's words cut off with a cry.

He made a mental note never to allow Potter to go a month without sex again—this ruthless aggression was… disturbing. Potter made a sound that was nearly a growl and twisted a hand around Draco's cock while sucking hard on the head, and Draco changed his mind again, because the new aggressive Potter was _oh god, oh hell yes_ , he was _perfect_.

Potter continued his amazing pattern of stroking, licking, and sucking; finally he had to use both hands to hold Draco's hips still to keep him from thrusting through the back of his throat as he thrashed mindlessly.

Draco's hands clenched on top of Potter's and he murmured words he could barely recall later, but mostly consisted of telling Potter how incredibly, wonderfully, fucking _beautiful_ he was—which would have embarrassed him if he had been at all rational.

Draco came so violently he not only saw stars, but supernovae, and cried out so loudly a flock of birds nesting in a nearby tree took startled flight. When the tremors subsided, Draco felt like a puddle of melted wax and he found himself smiling dreamily into Potter's smug face.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Malfoy," Potter said matter-of-factly. Draco sighed contentedly and realized Potter could have said, "I'm going to peel the flesh from your bones now, Malfoy," and Draco would have thought it was a grand idea.

Potter's wand brushed Draco's anus and he muttered a spell that Draco had used on him long ago. Draco was immediately loose and moist.

"Been practicing that," Potter mentioned.

"Oh whom?" Draco snapped, feeling a flash of emotion slice through the bliss.

"Myself," Potter said. "Got it wrong a few times, which was extraordinarily unpleasant, let me tell you."

Draco laughed unexpectedly, but the sound was choked off and turned into a gasp when Potter's cock pushed slowly into Draco's tight orifice. Draco's fingers went to Potter's shoulders and dug in. Draco had never… _never_ before allowed anyone to enter him. He made a sound of protest—bloody fucking hell, it did not feel good _at all_ —and Potter froze. Draco took a deep breath and tried to relax, and Potter's voice murmured in his ear as he placed soft, wet kisses on the curve of Draco's throat.

"Malfoy, you're so tight, so hot, so fucking, incredibly gorgeous…" Potter's voice was hoarse and thrummed with such a sexy timbre that Draco felt his cock twitch in response, even though it couldn't possibly get hard again this soon—

Potter thrust into Draco, who yelped at the unexpected sensation, but before he could shout at Potter to stop, Potter slid nearly out and rocked forward again and— _oh fuck that hurt_ , but it also sent an incredible sensation flooding through Draco's body and, yes, his cock certainly _was_ getting hard again.

Draco arched his back slightly and used his legs to meet Potter's next thrust. Potter made a whimpering moan that sent a thrill of power coursing through Draco's blood.

"So good, so good, so bloody fucking good," Potter whispered with that hot voice and Draco would have echoed his words except that he could no longer think straight because now Potter was ramming something inside and all Draco could do was rise to meet him and _please, God, don't let him stop._ His fingers curled—tore—into Potter's shoulders and he felt the need to bite something to keep from screaming as Potter thrust there, there, _fuck_ _yes, right there_ , and then Draco screamed for the second time that night, just as Potter stiffened and cried out his name—not Malfoy, but _Draco_ , which sent an undefined emotion singing through his blood.

Potter collapsed like a dead weight on Draco's chest and his lips pressed gently into his neck. Draco's arms slid around Harry's back and held him, uncertain if his limbs would respond if he tried to move.

"Bloody hell, that was worth the wait," Potter muttered. His arms were curled under Draco's shoulders and Potter's hands cupped Draco's head. His thumbs slid over Draco's throat in a light caress, and Draco couldn't speak. He didn't really want Potter to know it was the most amazing thing he'd ever felt. No need to swell Potter's head more than it already was.

He turned his head to take Potter's lips in his again. Because he wanted to; not because Potter had any particular seductive power over him. Potter kissed him back for a long time, until Draco started to feel another stirring in his loins and forced himself to stop. Potter had to be getting cold, lying atop Draco with nothing on. Draco was warm enough with his Potter blanket, but his feet were becoming chilled.

"I should get back," Draco murmured and placed just one more kiss on Potter's soft lips.

"Me too," Potter said and kissed Draco again, nibbling on his lower lip and teasing it with his tongue. Draco wished he could breathe normally.

"Aren't you going to ask me where we are?" he asked around another kiss. Draco knew he could stop kissing Potter any time he wanted, but Potter did not seem to have the same self-control.

"No," Potter said and started on Draco's upper lip, which was making it surprisingly hard to concentrate.

"Why not?" he asked on a breath.

"You called; I came," Potter said and then giggled. "Literally." Draco felt his own lips twitch in response, though he groaned.

"Aren't you getting cold?" Draco asked and slid his hands over Potter's back. It was cool where the sweat had dried.

"No. You feel good. I could stay here all night," Potter said sleepily. He had stopped kissing, at least, but now buried his head in Draco's neck. Draco decided he would have to do something about this odd, affectionate Potter. If only he weren't so damned… attractive like this. Draco sighed and groped for his wand, finally Summoning it when it was not immediately to hand. He conjured a thick blanket and levitated it over Potter, warming them both instantly.

Potter gave a contented sigh and kissed Draco's neck once more, before apparently drifting off to sleep. Draco decided it wouldn't hurt to sleep for a couple of hours, since Potter did not seem inclined to move any time soon, and it was rather nice feeling his warm breath against his throat…

Draco dropped off to sleep with the Savior of the Wizarding World wrapped in his arms.

~*~

"Potter, wake up."

The hero was snuggled tightly against Draco, on his side, pressed quite closely against Draco's skin. Potter's head was on Draco's shoulder; one arm was flung over Draco's waist, and their legs were intimately wrapped together.

He never would have guessed Potter to be a snuggler. Nor such a sound sleeper.

"Potter! Wake up." Draco sighed and slid his hand up Potter's arm, following the curving muscles to Potter's shoulder. Potter's dark hair tickled his chin. Draco's hand left the shoulder and slipped over Potter's smooth back. "Come on, Chosen One," he crooned. "Time to wake up and fight the Dark Lord."

Potter made a sound of protest and his arm tightened on Draco's waist. He murmured something unintelligible against Draco's chest. Draco sighed again, but smiled slightly. It was like sleeping with a giant stuffed animal. Very cuddly.

"Potter, if you don't wake up, I'm going to conjure a bucket of very cold water and douse you with it."

The dark head rose at that and Potter blinked at him before a lazy grin split his perfect lips. "Hi," Potter said pleasantly. Draco wasn't sure whether to kiss him or give him a pinch. The bastard was not supposed to be adorable. He was supposed to be a thorn in Draco's side; bane of the Dark Lord; champion of righteousness. Not this cuddly, sweet, tousled—

"It's about two in the morning. We should probably get back before we're missed," he said, interrupting his own thoughts.

Potter heaved a breath. "I suppose you're right."

Before Draco could reply, Potter levered himself up and planted a kiss on Draco's lips. Draco was just beginning to enjoy it when Potter pulled away and climbed out from under the blankets. He Summoned his glasses from wherever they had landed earlier and put them on.

Draco propped his hands behind his head and watched as Potter dragged his jeans on. He pulled on his shoes before swirling his invisibility cloak around his shoulders. Draco thought Potter would Disapparate, but instead he walked back and launched himself at Draco, sprawling over him on hands and knees.

Potter kissed him lingeringly and Draco felt an unwelcome pang, wondering when he would see Potter again; he mentally kicked himself for the thought. Potter's medallion tapped against his throat for a moment and Draco snagged it in his fingers. Potter pulled back and Draco looked at the medallion, angling it a bit to catch the moonlight. The G was similar to the S on Draco's, but a lion's head had been worked into the design, set with a dark stone for an eye—likely a ruby.

Draco's fingers felt an inscription on the back and he turned it over, but Potter's hand covered his and he pressed a kiss into Draco's knuckles.

"Time to go. I won't distress you by saying anything foolish, except to ask you to be careful," Potter said. He detached Draco's hand from the chain, gave his fingers a squeeze, and lightly touched his lips to Draco's.

And then he was gone.

~*~

One did not walk into Lucius Malfoy's bedchamber without being invited, even if said bedchamber was currently housed in a tent on the outskirts of nowhere. Draco paced several times before the closed portal and froze when he found his hand dragging through his hair in agitation. Bloody hell, when had he picked up that annoying habit?

The door opened and his father looked at him curiously. "You look a fright. What is the matter?"

Draco scowled. "I misplaced my comb. May I borrow yours?"

Lucius stepped aside and gestured elegantly for Draco to enter the _sanctum sanctorum_. Draco did so. The room was impeccable, as was everything about his father, and decorated in dark wood and dark fabrics—rich, chocolate brown this time. Only Draco and Narcissa knew that Lucius Malfoy preferred the languid, pastel colors of the Mediterranean—cool aquas and seafoam greens, which was likely why they spent most of their holidays in Greece or on the southern Italian coast. Even Lucius Malfoy's facades had facades.

Draco picked up the heavy silver comb from the washstand and dragged it through his hair, giving his reflection a quick glance. Bloody hell, he was starting to look like Potter. He made a mental note to keep his damned hands out of his hair.

His gaze flicked to the locked wand case on the nightstand near the bed and then his eyes met his father's in the mirror.

"Potter's wand?" he asked. Lucius nodded. "May I see it?"

"Haven't you seen it before?" Lucius asked as Draco walked to stand before the case. His back was to his father.

 _Only when it was brandished in my face with a threat behind it_ , Draco thought dryly. He shrugged as though uninterested. "I suppose."

Even after nearly eighteen years, Lucius was not in the habit of refusing his only son anything. He cast a spell and the case snapped open. Draco stepped forwards and picked up the length of holly. It was a thing of beauty, as were all of Ollivander's wands, but had little by way of decoration; rather like Potter himself.

Draco swished it experimentally. It was a bit suppler than Draco's. He grinned wryly. Also, rather like Potter himself. With a quick motion, he tucked it into his robe and retrieved the fake, which he dropped into the case with a sigh.

"It doesn't seem so special," he said.

Lucius walked up to stand beside him. Draco held his breath and hoped his father would not pick up the wand, although it was unlikely he would detect a difference.

"You weren't there. In the graveyard. It's linked, somehow, to the Dark Lord's wand. I'm not sure Potter can defeat him without it." Lucius snapped the case shut and looked at Draco with a measuring stare. Silence stretched between them for a moment, and then Lucius cast a spell that locked the case.

Draco turned and went out, scowling. He hated it when his father expected him to read his mind. Just once it would bloody well be nice if the man would simply _speak_.

~*~

It was another two weeks before Draco had an opportunity to contact Potter again. Voldemort had the Death Eaters Apparating all over the country, performing assorted bad deeds in order to keep the Ministry scrambling. Draco thought about warning Potter about the attacks several times, but Lucius seemed to have rediscovered his protective side after an ill-timed explosion at a Muggle warehouse had left Draco with a broken femur and a nasty concussion. The elder Malfoy barely let Draco out of his sight after that; until Lucius was, thankfully, summoned by the Dark Lord one afternoon.

Lucius had barely Disapparated before Draco went outside to speak to Avery.

"I'm going to find some entertainment," he said shortly.

Avery looked at him in puzzlement."Entertainment?"

"Sex, Avery. I'm in my fucking prime and it's being wasted chumming around with a pack of old, unattractive gents."

"Who you callin' old?" Avery blustered, but he couldn't deny the "unattractive" part. Draco smiled mercilessly. Avery waved him off. "Fine. Best be back before your father returns, though. I ain't takin' the brunt o' his wrath if he finds ye gone because ye needed ter get yer rocks off."

"I'll be back by morning."

"And be—!"

"Yes, yes, I'll be careful. I'm not an idiot." Draco huffed as he walked to a nearby copse of trees and Disapparated. He did not have far to go. They were currently lodging close to the cliffs of Dover—Draco secretly wondered if the Dark Lord intended for them to destroy the white cliffs just to annoy the Muggles and the Ministry. Draco had noticed a tiny cottage nestled into a quaint valley the previous day.

He marched up to the front door and knocked. A grizzled-looking Muggle with a decided lack of teeth flung the door open, and took in Draco's appearance with a suspicious glint in his eye.

Draco cast an Imperius Curse and said, "Take a walk. Go spend the night with some friends or something."

"Got no friends," the man said gruffly. Looking at him, Draco wasn't surprised.

"Then go spend the night in the barn with the sheep. I don't care what you do; just don't come back here before morning."

The Muggle obediently tottered down the walkway and headed for the ramshackle barn that was barely visible from the house. Draco ignored him, satisfied that one little problem had been dispensed with. He went inside.

Luckily, the Muggle was relatively neat, though the place reeked of boiled cabbage. It only took moments for Draco to tidy up the place and make it a bit more livable, after banishing the oppressive odor of cooked vegetables. It was a two-room cottage, with kitchen and living space packed into one room and the bedroom in the other. The bedroom took a bit more work. Draco transfigured the bed, Scourgified it, conjured new bedding, and doused the entire room with the summery scent of sweet woodruff. He smiled wickedly.

Then he returned to the living area and activated the medallion.

Potter appeared in the space of two heartbeats. He wasn't wearing the invisibility cloak this time, and looked more frazzled than Draco had ever seen him. His green eyes warily took in their surroundings before he visibly relaxed.

Draco commented, "You know, it's rather dangerous for you to just Apparate in that way. Can't you at least think to put the cloak on?"

"I didn't have it with me and I wasn't sure if you were in danger."

"I'm not in danger."

Potter sighed and dragged a hand through his abominably mussed hair. "I can't stay. I'm in the middle of something important."

"You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I don't think I have. Your fucking Death Eaters have been running us ragged—I barely have time to breathe, much less search for the damned Ho… Never mind."

"Well, they aren't _my_ Death Eaters, at any rate," Draco said icily. The affectionate Potter that had left him a fortnight ago had gone, replaced by a surly, stressed-out, exhausted Potter. A muscle in Potter's jaw tightened and he reached out to drag Draco into an embrace. Draco stood stiffly with hands at his sides.

"I know. I'm sorry." He held Draco tightly, as if trying to draw strength from him. He nuzzled Draco's neck and Draco relented slightly with a sigh. He slid his arms around Potter's back. "I can't stay," Potter repeated.

"All right," Draco said softly, but Potter made no move to go. He clung tightly and Draco moved his hands over Potter's back, massaging the tense muscles. Potter made a small sound of pleasure.

"You smell so good," Potter murmured into Draco's neck, still pressing light kisses there.

"You, too," Draco replied and nipped at Potter's throat before sliding his tongue over the spot. "Pity you can't stay." He pulled back and their mouths met of one accord, harsh with pent-up need. The kiss was greedy, bruising, and demanding. Draco tasted blood for a moment and Potter stepped back sharply. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips and his emerald eyes seemed to burn into Draco. His tongue touched the smear of blood on his lower lip.

"Fuck it," Potter snapped. "They can live without me for one afternoon." He pulled out his wand and cast a Patronus, barely speaking the words. A silver shape burst from the wand tip and disappeared.

Draco smiled almost maliciously. "That looked easy. What's your happy thought, Potter?"

"You. Naked. Drenched in moonlight," Potter said roughly. Draco barely had time to register the words before Potter stepped forward and slammed his mouth onto Draco's again. Draco moaned and Potter's hands—no hesitancy now—tore at the fastenings of Draco's robes.

"Before I forget," Draco said breathlessly, tearing his mouth from Potter's. "I have something for you."

"Yes, god yes, you do," Potter said with his lips hot on Draco's throat.

"No, this." Draco fumbled to retrieve Potter's wand from the tangle of their limbs in the way. He pressed the lust-crazed man back for a moment and handed him the wand. Potter's eyes widened in amazement. He reached out and took the wand.

"You did it."

Draco shrugged. "Piece of cake."

Potter swallowed visibly, still looking somewhat stunned. "I'll _never_ ask you for anything again."

Draco smiled languidly and drawled, "Really? Never is a very long time, Potter." He stepped forward and dragged his own wand over Potter's shirt, watching the buttons disappear one by one. The fabric gaped open and Draco's hand dipped inside to caress Potter's chest with a circular swirl. Potter's eyes unfocused and Draco moved his hand downwards while the wand unfastened and unzipped Potter's jeans.

Draco's questing fingers found what they sought, hard— _so hard_ —and trembling, as Potter thrust it into Draco's hand. Draco caressed it through the material and vaguely wondered when Potter had given up cotton for silk. Potter's hands rose to clutch blindly at Draco's shoulders; his eyes slid shut and his head tipped back gorgeously. God, his mouth was beautiful when it was parted slightly to allow those quick panting breaths to pass over his lips.

Draco had been hard before, but now he thought he might bypass granite on the Mohs scale. He halted the stroking movement of his hand and Potter whimpered.

"What was that, Potter?" Draco asked. "Did you want to _ask_ something of me?"

"You are an evil, evil man," Potter whispered, jutting forward to restart the friction.

"The question?" Draco prodded and pulled his hand away slightly.

Potter was infinitely stubborn, but definitely no fool. "Will you fuck me, Draco?" He slanted his eyes open to glare at Draco, who smiled triumphantly.

"Good thing you didn't promise, yeah? Never, indeed."

Before Potter could snarl a rejoinder, Draco moved his hand again and Potter could do nothing more than gasp and tighten his grip on Draco's shoulders. Draco sank to his knees and pressed his open mouth to the head of Potter's throbbing cock. He blew a long, hot breath through the fabric and Potter reacted as if electrified.

"God—I can't—!" Potter breathed. Draco pulled the silk down and took the head in his mouth—it was too much for Potter, who came immediately, spilling hot fluid onto Draco's tongue. Draco stood up and kissed Harry, who recoiled for a moment and then relaxed into the tender bliss of the odd-tasting kiss.

"Bedroom," Draco said after long minutes of snogging. From the dazed look on Potter's face, Draco could have led him straight to the Dark Lord without a fuss.

The bed was comfortable and welcoming and soon creaked in protestation as their bodies writhed together. Draco's lips and tongue marked Potter's body everywhere.

"You're mine," he murmured. " _Mine, mine, mine_." Potter could only whimper Draco's name.

Later, exquisitely fucked and completely drained, the Chosen One slipped into a sleep so deep that Draco had to check and see if Potter was still breathing. Draco dimly wondered if Potter slept at all outside the circle of his arms. A sudden possessive sensation nearly overwhelmed him for a moment. It was both confusing and alarming. Draco smoothed the black hair away from Potter's temple and trailed a finger over the scar revealed.

The sun was setting, spilling the last rays of light over the bed. A glint of gold caught Draco's eye and he moved his hand down to lift Potter's medallion. His thumb slid over the lion for a moment and then he turned it over.

The inscription read: _Yours_.


End file.
